Semper Fi
by Lady Buchanan
Summary: Memories from a Boston girl who knew the Bear Jew back when he was just Donny Donowitz. Rating changed for unnecessary amounts of swearing.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Inglorious Basterds and the character of Donny Donowitz belong to Quentin Tarantino.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Her father at work and her mother out calling on a sick friend, Rivka Schechter, age seven and three months, was the only one home to witness the wreckage. The hoarse sounds of whooping and war cries from outside roused her from her sleepy cuddle with Patches, the family dog, on the parlor rug. Scrambling upright, she was just in time to watch her older brother Reuben burst through the front door of the apartment, both hands clamped tight over his nose to staunch its flow of blood; it seeped through his fingers regardless and dripped onto the front of his shirt. Closely following Reu was Donny Donowitz, sporting a glorious shiner over one eye but both glittering with glee beneath his dark brows, a slightly manic gleam stretched wide over his mouth. At eleven he was older than both Reu and Rivka, and the clear source of all the previous noise. He and Reu had only recently become buddies, but the more Rivka saw of him the less she liked him, and the less she liked this raucous troublemaker he was making out of Reu.

She followed them both to the kitchen, where she found Reu bent almost double over the kitchen sink to keep from bleeding all over the floor. Ignoring Donny, she made a beeline for her brother, a note of hysteria in her voice as she asked, "Reu, what happened? What did you do?"

"Rivka, get out of here," he mumbled, and reached out one bloody hand to turn on the faucet.

"What's Mama going to say? You look disgusting."

"C'mon, Rivka." Donny would not let his presence be forgotten. She liked her name but not the way it came out of Donny's mouth, all harsh consonants, butchered by his Boston twang. "'S no way to talk to the man who just handed Gino Politi his Italiano ass on a plate."

Reu managed a small smile at the praise of someone whose opinion he clearly thought so highly of. Rivka, who didn't give two cents what Donny had to say about anything, turned back to her brother, horrified. "You were _fighting_?"

"Correction: he was teachin' the punk what happens to punks when they get smart about Mama Donowitz." With another broad grin, Donny clapped Reu on the shoulder so hard that it almost knocked him face-first into the sink full of pink water.

Rivka narrowed her eyes at Donny over her brother's bent head and pointed an accusing finger at his black eye. "So Reu gets his nose broke and you just get _that_?"

"Think I should've got worse?"

"It was _your_ mother."

"It ain't broke; I checked," said Donny dismissively. "He got worse only 'cause I'm the better fighter, but this man here—" There was no mistaking the admiration in his tone, "—he fights with heart."

Reu raised his head from the sink and turned his face up to Rivka. There was blood still leaking like a rivulet from his left nostril, dripping off of his chin. "Rivka, you tell Ma about this, I'll kill you."

Rivka, who had been accustomed to death threats from her brother since she was old enough to understand language, could only scowl and speculate that there had to be a better reason to fight if you were Reu than to defend the honor of Donny Donowitz's mother.

XXXXX

While Reu got his hair cut by Sy Donowitz, Rivka stood at his shoulder and watched his reflection in the mirror alongside hers. Rivka had the pointed chin and wide cheekbones of her mother, while Reu 's face was more elongated and oval, like their father's. But both had big dark eyes, olive skin, a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of their nose. And both had a head full of riotous brown curls—well, at the moment only Rivka did, because Reu was getting all of his shorn off. Wrapped up as he was under the black cape, his curls lying scattered all over the floor like chaff, his head looked oddly small, as if the witch doctor had paid him a visit. Rivka felt compelled to inform him of such.

"You're just jealous that I'm still better looking than you."

Rivka made a grotesque face at his reflection, and at that exact moment Donny Donowitz came clattering nosily down the stairs into the barber shop, his baseball bat slung over one shoulder. When he saw her he broke out into that wide grin she hated so much. "Practicing for the circus?"

"Where are you off to, son?" Sy Donowitz asked, glancing up from his task.

"Me 'n Reu 'n some of the guys are gonna go play baseball."

"Good weather for it. One moment, Donny, he's just about done here." Sy reached for a large brush on the counter and dusted the back of Reu's neck carefully. "There you are, Reuben."

"Thanks a lot, Mr. Donowitz." Reu slid out of the chair as soon as the cape was removed from around him. He ran an experimental hand over his close-cropped hair, struck a few poses in front of the mirror, turned to Donny. "Think it'll help me run the bases faster?"

"'S why I get mine cut before every game."

Chuckling, Sy Donowitz turned to Rivka. "You on deck, Miss Rivka Schechter?"

She shook her head, looking wistfully towards the spinning chair, the scissors gleaming on the counter. At eight years old she still had her hair cut by her mother with newspapers spread on the kitchen floor.

"I dunno, Pop," Donny called out as he and Reu headed toward the door, "you got a pair o' pruning shears handy?"

"Eat dirt, Donowitz!" Rivka shouted, forgetting Sy's presence, at the same time that Reu muttered, "Don't be a dick to my sister." He shoved the still-smirking Donny out the door and cast a rather guilty look back. "See you at home, Rivka." Through the glass window she watched the two boys take off running down the street.

"Think of your brother Reuben what you will…" Sy Donowitz turned to his new customer, a portly gentleman who did not have that much hair left to barber, "…but he does take good care of you."

_From your putz of a son_, Rivka thought silently, wishing for the thousandth time that Reu and Donny were not such great friends. "Sure, Mr. Donowitz. I'll see you later."

XXXXX

A short time later, Reu had an incident. On his way home from school one day he was set upon a group of bored Irish youths, who saw the lone Jewish boy and decided to have themselves some fun. They knocked his books to the ground, took the few coins he had in his pockets, shoved him around a bit. Reu's mistake was deciding to fight back instead of curling up on the ground and crying uncle from the get-go; being one modestly-built boy against four of various shapes and sizes, he hadn't lasted long before begging for a reprieve.

Exhausted, dirty, and humiliated, both eyes blacked, his lip spilt, and ribs bruised from being kicked, Reu made his way home where he was further emasculated by being put to bed immediately by his mother. Rivka sat by his side and held ice to the swollen purple splotches on his chest, or read him sections from his Abraham Lincoln biography, or held the bowl up for him as he ate the soup his mother had prepared. His injuries were not all that serious; in a little more than a week he would be right as rain. He just knew better now than to take the route home from school that bordered the Irish section of town.

Donny was over the instant he caught wind of what happened. Sitting on Reu's other side, he made him explain again and again exactly where he had been jumped and describe his attackers. As he listened a manic gleam stole into his eyes, and Rivka could practically see the wheels and cogs churning in his mind.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him across the bed.

"I'm gonna find those damn micks an' show 'em that you don't mess with Schechter without messing with Donowitz."

The next time Rivka saw Donny his right arm was in a sling, at which point she was forced to concede that anybody willing to break an arm for Reu was a good person for him to have around. She never knew exactly what it was that Donny did, but the Irish never bothered Reu again.

XXXXX

Unfortunately for Donny, he turned thirteen a short while after that incident and so was forced to perform his bar mitzvah ceremony one-handed. A rabbi flanked him on either side to make sure he didn't accidentally knock over the Torah in his handicapped state, as he recited a blessing over the reading. His suit jacket was too snug across the shoulders for him, his wrists protruding like bed knobs past the cuffs, but draped in the prayer shawl without the hint of a grin on his face, he cut a most solemn figure.

It was also around this time that his voice began its cracking journey to manhood, and to make matters worse it wavered a bit as he did his recitations—then again it must be torture to demonstrate to an entire congregation your inability to carry a tune in a bucket. Rivka clapped along politely, however, with the rest of the shul when he collapsed into his seat finally, ashen-faced and visibly trembling.

But by the time the festivities had begun he had regained his composure, and accepted the handshakes, kisses on the cheek, and especially the envelopes of money with a big smile and modest words of thanks. When people asked him about his arm he offered them a pen instead of an explanation and asked them to sign the cast. As Rivka sipped her punch and watched him, it occurred to her that he was a performer, that he liked nothing better than to show off for people. And yet, he wouldn't say a word about how he had broken his arm avenging his best friend. For all the rest of the world knew, he took a nasty spill while running the bases. They only saw of him what he wanted them to see.

At one point Donny got a reprieve from all his well-wishers and stood in the corner alone, looking out at everyone. Rivka found her feet carrying her over to him against all reason—she'd never interacted with him before without Reu present as a common factor. But Reu was currently in the midst of a small crowd of his own, all cooing that he would turn thirteen himself in a short time. Donny looked up as she approached, that familiar grin spreading across his face; Rivka crossed her arms in front of her chest as if that might protect her from any stab he was preparing to take at her, when sure enough…

"Who let you outta the house dunked in shit?"

"Mazel tov, Donowitz," she returned smoothly, choosing to ignore his comment. Her chocolate brown dress went lovely with her hair and eyes; everyone had said so. "How's your arm?"

"Itches like hell, but 's a lot more exciting now that I've got it all decorated."

"What are you trying to do, get your whole bar mitzvah on there?"

"That's the idea." Donny offered her the pen and Rivka stared for a moment, nonplussed.

"What, you want my name on there?"

"You're at my bar mitzvah, dummy."

A little flattered, Rivka took the pen and hunted for a spot of white somewhere on the cast that hadn't been scribbled on. There wasn't much space left, but at last she found one right near the crook of his elbow, and began to form her name carefully a small as she could manage. R… I… V… "Wow, think you'll have enough space for everyone?"

When Donny said nothing in response, she looked up, and found him staring past her as if he had completely forgotten that she was there. Rivka turned and followed his gaze to the back of the hall. Standing there near the coatroom gazing right back boldly was fifteen-year-old Eva Goldberg, her cherry-red pout visible even from so far away. As Rivka watched, she crooked one finger at Donny in an unmistakable come-hither gesture, and disappeared into the coatroom.

Rivka finished the rest of her name quickly and straightened. "Here's your pen."

"Thanks," Donny muttered without looking at her, and in the work of a few seconds he had traversed the hall and vanished into the darkness of the coatroom, leaving Rivka staring after him with the pen in her hand.

XXXXX

By the time Rivka was thirteen it was common knowledge that Donny Donowitz had gone through every girl within a two-block radius of his apartment and taken from her whatever she was willing to give him.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

**Next up: **Puberty and all of its subsequent complications.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Inglorious Basterds and the character of Donny Donowitz belong to Quentin Tarantino.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

In the summer of her fourteenth year Rivka finally grew breasts, and her initial delight was replaced by terror when they refused to stop growing. When the fall came she found it a struggle to button her favorite maroon cardigan over her chest. Looking at herself in the mirror, the straining buttons and taut fabric, she burst into tears. Her mother rushed to her side immediately, cradled her to her own generous bosom, and rocked her like a baby. When her sobs quieted, she was patted and told she would get measured for new sweaters and blouses straightaway.

Rivka adopted the habit of slouching from then on out, unable to bring herself to stand or sit upright and draw any more attention to her breasts than they already had. They looked so… awkwardly large, but as her mother explained one day, they only appeared so because of how small-boned she was. That was the lot of the Schechter woman. Rivka only pulled loose the front of her blouse so it wouldn't cling and wished darkly that she had been born a boy.

Donny Donowitz was as much an asshole about this as he was to her about everything else, not that she would have expected anything different.

"Well, fuck me sideways," he said to her one day as she prepared the dog's supper. When she looked at him it was to find his eyes glued unashamedly to her chest. "You packin' a whole roll of toilet paper down there?"

Reu entered the kitchen just in time to see her hurl the mushy brown contents of the dish into Donny's smirking face.

For all the other comments Rivka received on her assets, she never got so many and in such poor taste as from Donny. She held her schoolbooks in front of her every day as she passed Sy Donowitz's barbershop where Donny worked, but that never stopped him from sticking his head out the door and hollering, "Watch where you're goin', Rivka, you don't want to blind any midgets with those cans!"

"Up yours, Donowitz!" was her comeback of choice, which, while not particularly witty or original, was enough to get him to retreat inside, grinning.

"He's such a pig," Rivka fumed one day to Esther Zuckerman, who herself possessed a modest and tastefully-sized bosom. "And to think he's still managed to get into bed with almost every girl in the West End."

"I saw him on the fire escape behind the Archer Street bakery a little while ago."

"What did I say? A class act, that Donny Donowitz."

"Well," Esther began carefully, looking down at her feet as she walked, "you have to admit there's something about him that's quite attractive. He's a little wild, dangerous, even…"

"If I wanted wild and dangerous, I'd go to the zoo and look at the gorillas. They'd probably have better manners, in any case. Once he exhausts his options and tries to make me bed warmer of the week, I'll tell him exactly where he can go stick his 'danger…'"

"I wouldn't be worried about that if I were you."

"Considering he's made it a goal to go through every girl in the West End before his twentieth birthday, I must be on the list somewhere, maybe near the end, but—"

"Donny would never try anything with you."

There was a note of finality in Esther's voice that made Rivka frown. "Didn't you hear what he said today about my breasts? Don't you hear what he says _every_ day about my breasts?"

"Oh, sure. He's a loudmouth, there's no denying it. But he'll go through every girl in the West End twice, including the ugly ones, before he comes anywhere near you."

"How come?" Rivka asked, and was disgusted by how petulant she sounded, as if she wanted nothing better than to be sexually compromised by Donny Donowitz.

"Isn't it obvious?"

She thought for a moment, before the answer dawned on her. "It's because we've known each other since we were kids and he respects me too much."

"You'd like to think so, wouldn't you?" Esther asked with a chuckle that made Rivka's frown deepen. "Donny's gotten with Nora Rosenfeld, and they've been living next door to each other forever. It has nothing to do with respect. You're off limits because you're Reu's sister."

"And that's enough reason to keep him away?"

"That's more than enough reason. He would never mess around with his best friend's sister."

"Maybe he should just screw Reu then, save all the girls some trouble," Rivka snapped, to which Esther responded with a shrug.

XXXXX

By the time Rivka was sixteen she had caught Esther and Donny in the alleyway behind the barbershop on no fewer than three occasions. She loathed admitting it was an issue that kept her up some nights, but the truth seemed glaringly obvious: if the city's most hedonistic Lothario didn't want her, she must be somehow defective.

XXXXX

Rivka had to wait until she was seventeen to hear the truth from Donny himself. It was also the first night in her life that she got drunk. They were at a wedding, she, Donny, and Reu, of a young man who had played baseball with them back in the day. At the reception Rivka danced exactly once before discovering she had made a mistake in choosing a dress with such a plunging neckline. Forgoing anymore opportunities for her assets to be conveniently ogled, she sat out every other dance and downed glass after glass of wine for the sake of something to do. At the end of the night when the bride and groom had departed, when the guests had begun to say their goodbyes to each other and trickle out, Rivka stood and wobbled over to the coatroom by herself, wondering vaguely why no one had thought to say anything when she started guzzling straight from the bottle.

The coatroom was empty when she got there, and comfortingly dark after the bright lights of the hall. No one was there to see Rivka sink to the ground in a mass of limbs and purple fabric. The floor was inexplicably comfortable, and she keeled over sideways onto it with a happy sigh, her cheek pressed to the cold cement. And that was how Donny found her some time later.

"Dammit, Rivka." He sounded amused. "You're lucky I'm the only one here to see what a fuckin' cheap drunk you are."

She sat up slowly and squinted up at his big figure leaning casually in the doorway; her inebriated self was more pleased to see him than her sober self ever was. "What kind of drunk are you?"

"Classy as a fuckin' tea party, just ask your brother." Donny knelt beside her and sniffed her breath; Rivka couldn't help but think about how this was the closest his face had ever come to hers. "Jesus, what'd you do, drain the whole vineyard?" He lingered in that position a little too long, his eyes beginning a journey south, and Rivka reached out to sock him wearily on the shoulder.

"For five minutes of your life, Donowitz, can you think about something other than my breasts?"

With a grin he maneuvered himself agilely beside her on the floor, back up against the wall. "Your folks couldn'ta picked a better weekend to skip town."

"Donny?"

"Yeah?"

"Donny?"

"What?"

"Don't tell Reu."

"He'll know whether I tell him or not, sweetheart."

The unfamiliar endearment made Rivka glance sideways at him. They sat together in silence for a few moments, then presently she asked, "You ever macked on a drunk girl before?"

"Lots of 'em."

"Then why aren't you macking on me right now?" Donny opened his mouth and then promptly shut it; he seemed at a loss for words, a rare occurrence, and Rivka continued, "You've messed around with every girl in the West End except for me, and I want to know why. How come I'm special??"

"Look, Rivka," he began bluntly, "I don't want you goin' around thinkin' you're special. If you wanna know the truth, you're just another broad to me. I've had lotsa broads before, and some of 'em a damn sight prettier and a lot less mouthy than you."

"Ooh, Donny Donowitz thinks I'm _mouthy_." She made a wide grandiose gesture that almost caught Donny in the face. "So it's got nothing to do with me at all?"

"Not a damn thing."

"And everything to do with Reu?"

He grinned a little lopsidedly. "You dig good, kid."

"Sure." Rivka slumped back against the wall, now slightly depressed. "I dig real good. But you know what's sad?"

"Tell me."

"You," she reached up and stuck her forefinger in his face, "might have ended up liking me more than any of those other girls you've ever had."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Oh, yeah, and you'll never get the chance to find out."

Donny gave her an appraising look from top to bottom before answering, "Reu'd beat the living shit outta me if he knew I messed around with his kid sister."

"Gold star of friendship to Donny Donowitz." She whacked him full on the chest with the back of her hand this time, making him yelp in surprise.

"_Jesus_, I liked you better when you kept your trap shut and just stuck out your rack."

"You must be confusing me with every other girl you've ever had in bed. Or against wall. Or on rooftop. Or fire escape."

"Spend some time with me and you'll see that I ain't the scumbag you seem to think I am."

"What, ten years not enough time for you?"

Reu found his sister and his best friend a little while later sitting and chatting on the floor of the coatroom. Rivka had clearly had a little too much to drink, but her every article of clothing was in place, the fake orchid still pinned in her dark curls, and her lipstick still on her lips and nowhere on Donny or anywhere else that it shouldn't be.

XXXXX

Rivka dated Jacob Lipschutz from the age of eighteen to twenty, and two whole years was longer than she could ever have imagined being with someone without marrying them in the end. She'd known Jacob practically her entire life, as she did many other people in her neighborhood—they had learned Hebrew together at the North Russell Street Shul, English and math at school. Jacob was a born scholar on the fast track to becoming a doctor, when other boys were looking to settle into the manual workforce where they would stay until they creaked with arthritis. But then, Jacob had always aimed higher than other boys.

They got along quite well together. Jacob never told her to stop talking and stick out her rack; in fact, he found her hilarious. And Rivka liked being with a smart boy, a boy who was going somewhere, her father always said about him proudly. Her parents would probably have both married him themselves if they could. Jacob was polite and well-read, his glasses always clean and trousers pressed, and despite having lived all his life in Boston he did not have the abrasive accent.

For two years Rivka basked in the glow of his attentions and admiration. She made plenty of jokes to keep him laughing, accompanied him to dinners and dances, tolerated his wet kisses and inexpert fumbling beneath her dress. But whenever Jacob brought up the subject of matrimony, she always managed to evade it and go on to the next thing. She liked him well enough, but the idea of waking up to his pale gentle face every morning until either of them died or she went blind was not appealing. Before Rivka knew it she was twenty, and Jacob had been accepted to a prestigious medical program in Baltimore and wanted her to go with him. Forced into giving a straight answer at last, she refused with some lame excuse about how she saw him as a brother and nothing more. He called her a trifling bitch with more heat than she would ever have expected from him, and promptly left Boston. And that was the end of Jacob Lipschutz.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

**Author's note: **Thanks for all the reviews! I'm so pleased you're enjoying it so far—Donny's a kick to write and hopefully I'm not straying too far from the way he was portrayed on the screen.

**Next up: **A transatlantic war and its effects on those on the home front.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Inglorious Basterds and the character of Donny Donowitz belong to Quentin Tarantino.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

In the past ten minutes Donny had uttered the word "fuck" and every single one of its existing variations no fewer than a hundred times. Rivka sat in straight-backed silence, praying fervently that her mother would linger for just a couple minutes longer over coffee with Mrs. Bernstein next door, or else that Donny would calm down before she returned. Reu was slumped over in his own chair nearby with his face in his hand, not even watching this spectacular show of rage from his best friend.

Rivka was not ignorant of the rumblings from Europe, Jews forced out of jobs and homes and into ghettos as part of a nation-wide ethnic "cleansing" process. She was familiar with the sick campaign and with its German head Hitler. But today was the first she had ever seen of the swastika. Going outside to fetch the morning paper, she noticed the four-armed symbol painted red on the front door and called Reu over to look, thinking some kids had had a moment of moment of misguided creativity the night before. Reu went pale as chalk at the sight, as did her father when he came over, and together they explained to Rivka that it was the symbol of the Nazi party. Clearly someone nearby thought Hitler had the right idea over in Europe. A little while later in the morning Donny had stopped by for Reu, and that was when all Hell broke loose.

"…and who the _fuck_ do they fuckin' think they're tryin' to mess with, those fuckin' motherfuckin' _cocksuckers_? Do they think they can fuckin' scare every Jew outta Boston? _Fuck_, no! This ain't fuckin' goddamn Europe, for fuck's sake, it's fuckin' America! Fuck, we got fuckin' rights here in this country…"

Rivka had known Donny for close to fourteen years now and seen him in all kinds of moods, but this was the first time she had ever seen him like this. It was truly frightening. He was pacing like a caged animal, eyes feral and dark and teeth bared in a snarl, hands flexing as if they were itching to tear someone apart. Both Rivka and Reu were covered in a fine mist of his saliva.

"…the fuckin' bulls are gonna give a shit? Naw, if it ain't written in fuckin' _blood_ sayin', 'die, Schechters' they fuckin' won't do a goddamn thing. Either of you—" Donny stuck a forefinger increments away from Reu's downcast face, then swung his arm around to point at Rivka, who started even though she knew it was coming, "—get any kind of lead as to who the motherfucker was who did it, you let _me _know, got it?"

At Rivka and Reu's silent nods Donny opened his mouth as if to start bellowing again, and they both cowered slightly. But instead he shook his head with a grimace and one last muttered "fuck" and collapsed into an armchair beside Reu. For awhile none of them said anything, lost as they were in their individual thoughts. Then when Rivka deemed it safe to move again, she stood stiffly and moved towards the kitchen, murmuring,

"I'll make some tea."

On her way out she saw Donny lean over to Reu. They talked too softly for her to hear, but then came the unmistakable crunch of Donny's cracking knuckles. Rivka shuddered.

XXXXX

They never did find out who painted the swastika on the door, but then something else came up that made them forget about it altogether: Donny and Reu were drafted to fight in the Philippines. Neither of them were too keen to go. Reu had quietly been seeing a girl named Miriam Horwath for awhile, and now it looked as if their plans to marry and settle down somewhere would never come to be, or at least not when and the way they had expected, even if he did come back alive. Reu resigned himself to his fate with the same stoic acceptance that he used to deal with all situations, and if he had any complaints he never volunteered them.

Donny, on the other hand, was even more pissed off about this turn of events than he had been about the swastika. "You think I give a flyin' shit about the fuckin' Japs?" he demanded of anyone who would stand still long enough to listen. "It's Nazi blood I'm lookin' to get on my hands."

The war was something that Reu had given up a long time ago trying to discuss with his best friend, to save them both some anger and frustration in their last couple of months at home. Reu did not share Donny's sense of justice, however misguided. He had no interest in exacting revenge on Germans. As far as he was concerned, the war was an inconvenience and a hindrance to his carefully-planned future with Miriam. He would do as he was told, of course, fly over to the Philippines, shoot as many Japanese as he was ordered to, and hopefully return home alive so he could go on living. The kind of apathy Reu exhibited was incomprehensible to Donny, in whose opinion all American Jews should be burning with wrath on behalf of their European brethren.

XXXXX

"_No_." Rivka stopped in her tracks and fixed Donny with a menacing glower, her ire flaring. "You shut your big stupid mouth for two seconds and listen to me. I understand that you and Reu don't see eye-to-eye on this situation and most likely never will, but you will _never_ go questioning his loyalty to the Jewish people in front of me again, is that clear, Donowitz?"

"All right." He looked a little alarmed at her outburst. "_Christ_, I'm sorry. Forgive me?"

Rivka jerked her arm out of reach of his supplicating hand, her lips pressed together in a thin line.

"Oh, come on, Rivka, are you fuckin' mad at me now? Don't be such a bitch; I said I was sorry."

"You crossed a line back there, Donowitz, and you know it. That's Reu you're talking about, my brother, your best friend."

"I know, I know."

"Then _why_ did you say it?"

"So shoot me, why don'tcha?" he said sullenly. "Then you won't have to listen to me run my big _stupid _mouth."

Rivka crossed her arms with a sigh, as she girded herself for this conversation yet again, seemingly the only conversation she ever had with Donny these days. Then again, it was a step up from talking about her breasts. "Look. Reu's different from you. He doesn't like to fight. He doesn't like violence. Haven't you noticed how he's been making _me_ check the mousetraps every week for all these years? It's because he hates seeing things suffer."

"You'd think after so long I'da rubbed off on him or something," Donny grumbled, grinding a leaf vengefully into the walkway with his heel.

"Be glad you didn't, or you two would probably have killed each other by now. Anyways, it's not that Reu doesn't care about what's going on in Europe or want to stop it. He just doesn't believe in vendettas, repaying evil with more evil, any of that."

"Do you?"

Rivka blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Sure, Nazi heads skewered on pointy sticks, it's the stuff my dreams are made of." She had meant it tongue-in-cheek, but almost immediately regretted her quick answer as a maniacal gleam stole into Donny's eyes. She knew he was picturing those heads and continued hastily, "Besides, you know he and Miriam were looking to be married by next summer. Of course he isn't too thrilled about having to shelve his life for awhile."

"That's the difference between me 'n him then, isn't it?" he asked, with a strange crooked smile. "He's got a life here."

"And you don't?"

"Some life, cuttin' hair, fuckin' broads, and gettin' drunk until the day I croak. Naw, I'm better off givin' those Nazi sons-of-bitches what's comin' to 'em."

"Hold on." Rivka narrowed her eyes at him. "Nazis? You're shipping off to the Philippines with Reu."

"Yeah, well, see…" The grin pulling at the corners of his mouth told her he had decided to take justice into his own hands, not as if that was anything new "…that was _before_ I got to communicatin' with a hick by the name of Raine, and it looks like the plan's a little different now…"

XXXXX

So somehow Donny had managed to weasel his way out of service in the Philippines and was instead headed off to France in a few months time. The details as he explained them to Rivka were a little sketchy, something to do with spreading fear through the Nazi ranks by way of guerilla attacks and systematic maiming of prisoners, and she was sure he mentioned something briefly about scalping. It wasn't anything like she had imagined war to be like, anything she could imagine Reu getting caught up in, and for once it made her glad that at least _he_ was following orders and going off to the Philippines like any normal soldier. As for Donowitz, well, he could go do whatever sick thing his thick vengeance-ridden head could think up, because as far as suicide missions went, you couldn't do much better than taking on the Nazis.

XXXXX

The night before Reu left for the Philippines, Donny insisted on taking him out barhopping. It was a good idea in theory, stop at every bar within a five-block radius and order a drink, especially since Donny was paying. But in the execution they had overlooked a couple of details, namely that Reu weighed roughly forty pounds lighter than Donny, was not in the habit of frequent or heavy drinking, and also that there were quite a few more bars in the area than they had anticipated.

Rivka had been dozing in the living room armchair and was awakened by the sound of the front door creaking open. She sat upright and was just in time to see Reu stumble into the foyer, his arm slung across Donny's shoulders. Both looked happier than Rivka had seen them in weeks, despite the alcohol stains on their shirtfronts, and one would have thought they had never disagreed over anything in their life. She tucked Reu's other arm around her shoulders to help him to his room, thinking about how lucky it was that her brother made the quietest drunk she had ever come across.

He smiled up at Donny as they deposited him into bed, and reached up to give him what was clearly meant to be an affectionate pat on the cheek, but that was instead translated as more of a slap.

"Ow." Donny rubbed the side of his face and glanced towards Rivka, who was at the foot of the bed removing Reu's shoes. "You Schechters can't hold your liquor for shit."

"Donny, you are amazing," Reu slurred from his supine position. "Seriously, honestly, amazing, you… amaze me."

"'S why they keep me around."

"You're my best friend, my greatest best friend."

"Right back atcha, Reuben."

"And after tomorrow… I might never see you again."

Donny's wry grin faded. Rivka looked up sharply. For awhile no one said anything, and then finally she stood. "Reu, you should really drink some water. I'll get you some."

"Rivka!" Reu gave Donny another drunken pat on the cheek. "Look who's there, Donny, it's my little sister Rivka."

"I see her, buddy."

"Remember what you told me tonight, Donny, about Rivka? About how…"

"Get the water, Rivka, he ain't in good shape here."

"What did you say about me?" she demanded of Donny, momentarily distracted from the task at hand, then turned to her brother. "What did he say?"

"_I_ say go for it, you know? Why the hell not? Eat, fuck, and be merry, 'cause tomorrow the Japs'll stick us all six feet under… Oh, shit." Reu stopped talking abruptly, and even in the darkness they could see his pallor taking on a grayish tinge, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

Donny dived for the wastebasket in the corner, his reflexes remarkably quick for being somewhat inebriated himself, grabbed Reu by the back of his collar, and forced his face over the edge of the bed. Rivka hurried from the room for water to the sounds of Reu's violent retching, and couldn't help thinking that this was not the way her brother's last night at home should have gone at all. But then, that's what he got for being best friends with Donny Donowitz.

XXXXX

They walked Reu down to the train station the next morning. As he stood on the platform facing them all, slender and dashing in his uniform, still a little pale from the effects of overindulgence the previous night, Rivka dissolved into tears. Somehow the fact that they were shipping him halfway across the world and she would not see him again for a long time if he even made it through this war alive had not fully sunk in until now. She cried and did not stop crying even when her mother and Miriam had dried their own tears, and it was quite embarrassing because she had expected to be the consoler and them to be the ones in need of consoling. When Reu pulled her into his arms, every last piece of advice, every witticism she had been planning to make, flew out of her head; she could only cling to him and sob into the front of his new green jacket. Then he had boarded the train and found a seat near the window, waving out of it to them all as the wheels began to click and the train to pull out of the station.

Donny nudged Rivka gently. "Turnin' on the waterworks for me next month?"

"J-just until you can't see me anymore, and then I'm throwing a p-party," she sniffed, but allowed him to drape an arm across her shoulders; together they waved to Reu's ever-shrinking figure in the window. As the train entered a tunnel and was eventually lost from view, she hid her face against Donny's chest and bawled.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

**Author's note: **Once again, I am OVERWHELMED by the support I'm been getting on this story by way of reviews! I don't even know what to say except thank you all so much for stopping by and taking the time to let me know what you think. Hang tight, we're almost done here—can you believe I originally envisioned this as a one-shot?

**Next up: **_Two roads diverged in a wood_… Robert Frost.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Inglorious Basterds and the character of Donny Donowitz belong to Quentin Tarantino.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Rivka was twenty-two the last time she ever saw Donny Donowitz.

XXXXX

A bat. He was taking a fucking baseball bat to France to kill Nazis. A plain old machine gun wasn't good enough for him, oh no, Donny liked things messy and with as much flair as he could get away with. There were names written up and down the polished wood, David, Annalisa, Madeleine, Nathaniel… It took Rivka a little while to find some free space, but Donny seemed in no big hurry. He was leaning over her desk, assessing the collection of movie star photographs she had pasted on the wall, and it crossed her mind that if she had ever before imagined him in her bedroom, it was never like this. She printed R…E…U...B…E…N as neatly as she could along the side of the bat; beneath the scribble of names she could make out the Louisville Slugger stamp. No cheap knock-offs here—all braining was to be done with top-of-the-line sporting equipment. Oy vey.

"Clark Gable gets you hot?" Donny asked suddenly, raising his arm to point.

"I like him for his _acting_. He was amazing in _San Francisco_."

"He looks like of o' them chimpanzees with those big ears."

Rivka rolled her eyes skyward and held his bat out to him. He took it back, tossed it from hand to hand experimentally, wrapped both around the handle and swung it in a small measured arc, as if to test whether the adding of an extra name would change the whole balance. "This is such a bad idea."

"Little ray of sunshine, aren't you, Rivka?" Donny let the tip of the bat stop increments away from her temple and she pushed it away irritably.

"What did you want Reu on there for anyways? The Nazis won't be bothering him all the way in the Philippines."

"You're worried about him, right?"

"Of course I am."

"Then he's on there for you. For Miriam. For your folks." Donny paused. "For me."

"You're worried about him?"

He nodded, turning the bat in his hands as he hunted for Reu's name. "I been thinkin' about what you said before he left, about how me 'n him are different."

"And?"

"And you were right."

"About what?"

"Some guys, guys like Reu, they weren't meant for this business, killin' and shit. He shouldn't be over there. He shouldn't be totin' around one o' them machine guns. Fuck, he'd probably shoot his own balls off, if he hasn't already."

One of the marks of their strange relationship was that Donny had never felt the need to censor himself in front of her to protect her feminine sensitivities or anything like that. He'd always spoken frankly to her as if she were a man, the same as he'd talk to Reu or any of those whose hair he cut in his father's barbershop. Still, Rivka thought, as the image of her brother accidentally shooting himself in the crotch sprung unbidden to her mind, he could at least try to have a little more tact when musing aloud to her. Donny Donowitz was known for many things, but tact was not one of them.

"The draft is a shitty idea. All these guys they sent overseas, they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They should be home takin' care of their wives and kids, not runnin' around playin' at bein' killers."

"What about you?"

"Me?" There was a quiet cool edge to Donny's tone as he continued, "I was born for this."

Rivka looked up at him standing there, shoulders squared, rotating the bat almost caressingly in his hands, eyes dark and glittering beneath his heavy brows. He wasn't going to play at being a killer. He was going over to France and he was going to slaughter and disfigure and maim, and he was going to love every damn second of it. And that was when she knew. "I'm never going to see you again, am I, Donny?"

When he only looked back at her with those psychotic eyes, her throat tightened. She rose from her bed and approached him slowly until they were standing almost toe-to-toe. Prying the bat from his fingers gently, she propped it up against the desk and wrapped both arms across the back of his broad shoulders. His heart beat strong and steady against her chest, and she felt him reach up slowly to return the embrace. He was so real, so substantial, and by this time tomorrow he would be on a boat carrying him all the way across the ocean so he could carry out this suicide vengeance mission, because that's exactly what it was, suicide, and it was absolutely insane. But then, Donny had always had a streak of insanity in him that had once led him to go up against four Irish boys in the name of vengeance for his best friend, and now to hightail it straight into German territory with a baseball bat in order to avenge the Jews who had died at the hands of the Nazis.

After some time Rivka turned her head and whispered into his ear, "Donny?"

"Hm?"

"This was a nice moment until you decided to feel me up."

She was expecting him to respond with something sleazy and suggestive, to mess with her head or make fun of her as he usually did. What she wasn't expecting was to have him remove his hands from either side of her ribcage as quickly as if it had erupted into flames, and release her so abruptly that she almost stumbled backwards. The moments that followed were exceedingly awkward; first of all neither of them said a word, and secondly Donny appeared to have lost the ability to look her in the face.

"Look," he said finally with some vague indication towards the window, "I should really get goin', my train leaves in about forty minutes."

"Oh, sure, absolutely, I—"

"It was—wait, what?"

"What?"

He forced a laugh even as he was heading for the door, as if he couldn't wait to be anywhere else but here. "I was just gonna say, it was nice to see you one more time, Rivka."

"Oh, you too, I hope everything goes… well," she finished lamely, and immediately felt stupid.

"Thanks. Good luck with everything here. Take care of your folks and Miriam…"

"I will, and you take care of yourself too— Donny, wait!" He paused, his hand almost to the doorknob, and Rivka gestured to his bat set upright against the desk. "You forgot your, um… weapon."

"Oh." He dropped his hand, traversed the room in a few long strides and caught it up. "Guess that's pretty important, huh?"

She gave voice to a breathy, somewhat maniacal giggle, unable to tear her eyes away from him. He hesitated briefly, looking down at her. "All right, then… I'll be seein' you, or… maybe not."

And with that Donny Donowitz was gone, the door slamming after him like a final judgment.

Rivka stood gazing blankly at it for a moment, before her legs gave out beneath her and she was forced to sit. Hot tears pricked the corners of her eyes, her breath quickening. Was that it, then, the way they ended? For fifteen years they had coexisted in the same sphere, insulted and angered each other, commiserated and conspired together. Then with the slamming of a door he had exited her life and left her alone with all the things she should have said to him while she had the time and all the things she wished she hadn't. With a sob, Rivka hid her face in her palms. Perfect, his last memory of her would be of her panting up at him like a little love struck puppy. When he was all the way across the ocean recalling his last few moments at home, that's what she would be to him, a love struck puppy, until the moment he died, and he was going to die because you don't go up against the Nazis with a fucking baseball bat and expect to come home alive…

She didn't hear Donny's footsteps out in the hallway, didn't register the door flying open or the bat clattering to the ground and rolling, didn't even know he had entered the room once more and crossed over to her until he did what he did next, which was heave her bodily to her feet, tear her hands from her face, and kiss her so hard their teeth smashed together. Stars of pain winking beneath her eyelids, Rivka could only cling to the front of his army jacket and pray that he wasn't planning on releasing his death grip on her arms anytime soon despite the thumb-shaped bruises she was sure to find on her flesh tomorrow; without him supporting her she would probably melt into a puddle all over his boots, and that was certainly no way to report to duty. Donny was kissing her like he was trying to suck the lips right off her face, disconcerting, to say the least. Rivka wondered whether he kissed every girl like this or whether she was just special, and was reminded that not only had he explicitly told her once that she was not special, but that by extension she was currently exchanging saliva with every other girl in the West End. Lovely. Finally the need for air proved too great for her to ignore and maybe Donny sensed that; they broke apart at almost the same time despite the fact that his lung capacity probably vastly trumped hers.

Rivka found herself incapable of speech for longer than she would have liked. She took in a few open-mouthed gasps, then managed to choke out, "But Reu…"

"What about him?"

"I thought Reu was… because of Reu you wouldn't…"

His brows knitted, Donny reached out to swipe his thumb roughly across the tears still drying on her cheek. "Wanna know what I said to Reu his last night in Boston?"

"I don't know, do I?"

"I said, 'Reu, in all likelihood I'll end up fuckin' your sister before I ship out.'"

Rivka blinked at him, at a complete loss for words.

"I'll be honest, I thought for sure he was gonna try and knock my lights out, but he just said, 'Do whatever the hell you want, Donowitz, you're both adults.' 'Course, he was also pretty well soused by that point…"

"Is _that_ why you got him so drunk? To tell him—"

"What is this, the Rivka Schechter show? Shit ain't always about you, sweetheart. I just figured it'd be smartest to introduce the idea to him while he was up to his ears in booze."

"You've been best friends with Reu for years and this was the first either of you have ever brought it up?"

"Are you shocked or somethin'?"

"I'm not _shocked_, it's only… so now that I know my brother gave you his blessing, I'm supposed to be over the moon about this?" If anything the knowledge just made things even more wrong.

Donny spread his hands wide, one brow cocked, and both gestures working in tandem spoke clearer than words: _damn straight._

"Oy vey, Donowitz." Rivka dug the heel of her palm into her forehead, unsure whether to feel offended, flattered, or aroused by this new turn of events. The last situation she ever expected to find herself in was being informed by Donny Donowitz himself that she was to be his very last conquest. "Cut straight to the chase, why don't you? Most guys would have bought me dinner first, or taken me to a movie or out dancing, or written me a poem…"

"Dinner? Poems? Do I _look_ like I have time for that bullshit?"

"Considering the circumstances, no, but it's a…" Self-confident, misogynistic, conceited, and just plain _rude_. "… bold claim to make, in any case."

"Sure, except for the fact that you've been beggin' for it for years."

"Asshole, I have _not_…" Rivka closed her mouth promptly, deciding that to outright deny it would have been a little farfetched. "Don't do me any favors."

"Trust me, I don't give out pity fucks."

Something in his tone gave Rivka pause, and she tilted her head to one side in order to study him before blurting out, "Are you in love with me?" The moment it left her lips she knew it was a stupid question and could only hope he didn't notice the way her hands began to twitch.

"What?"

"I'm not asking you again," she snapped testily and waited for him to scoff at her presumptuousness, tell her again that she meant no more to him than any other girl and he was just looking to get laid one last time on American soil.

Donny said nothing for awhile and instead examined the floorboards as if he had never seen anything like them. "I don't know, maybe…" His shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug. "…I could've been, if... "

If. It was a slippery slope. If he wasn't a bloodthirsty lunatic who cracked Nazi skulls in his sleep. If she hadn't wasted two years of her life putzing around with Jacob Lipschutz. If he hadn't been best friends with her older brother. If she'd never had an older brother. If they'd had the chutzpah to say something to each other sooner, because after all, they had had fifteen years to sort things out and if that wasn't enough time, well then, fuck, maybe they were doomed to failure before they even began.

"If things had been different."

There was a rare and oppressive moment between them where neither of them said anything. "Guess we'll never know now, what might've happened."

"No, we won't." Rivka swallowed the lump of disappointment and lost opportunities and "what if's" that had settled in her throat. If it wasn't love she felt for him at this moment it sure as hell was _something_ that had her cheeks flaming and her heart thundering, and he could at least have that satisfaction. "I told you once, a long time ago, that you might have liked me best. I _told _you."

"Yeah." The corners of Donny's mouth tipped up in a rueful smile. "You did."

They stood in silence again for some time, the only time they had left with each other, awkward, exhilarating, and bittersweet. Then their eyes met and held, and in that moment Rivka made up her mind. She drew in a breath and released it through her nose, stepping closer towards him. "Forty minutes, you said?"

"More like thirty now."

She took hold of the lapels of Donny's jacket and worked it off, letting it fall with a cushioned thud. His face was very near to hers, his breath warm, and he smelled faintly of cigarettes and aftershave. Hooking her forefingers into his suspenders, she pulled him down to the bed with her, murmured, "Shoes off." She heard the heavy thump of his boots as they hit the floor and allowed him to maneuver her onto her back, his hand splaying along the length of her spine as if it was always meant to be there. Rivka gazed up at him looming over her (because that was the only way to describe what he was doing, _looming_), her world made up wholly of his shoulders, his heavy dark brows and brown eyes, the thumb he was running beneath the curve of her bottom lip.

"We'd better get to it then, hadn't we?" she whispered, resolved not to regret a single moment of this.

A Cheshire cat grin spread over Donny's features as he reached down to undo the first button on her blouse. Then he lowered his mouth to hers and stole her breath away.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

**The end.**

**Author's note: **Dear Mr. Roth, you and your Twitter updates have been killing me dead for the past couple of weeks. If you end up reading this some time or another, I want you to know that you are a beautiful man and I meant zero disrespect to you or your character through the writing of this story. Although after the OhNoTheyDidnt/blueberry/topless photo fiasco of oh nine, maybe it's better for me to keep you separate in my mind from Donny...

Anyways, I just wanted to reiterate my thanks to all of YOU who have been reading! If you liked it, terrific, and if you didn't, that's fine too; I can definitely see that the ending might not sit well with everyone and for the record, this story bears no resemblance to my own sexual ethics. Again, big thanks to everyone! The amount of support I've received has exceeded anything I've ever imagined. You are all WUNDERBAR.


End file.
